


We Had No Choice But to Be Put on the Bad List

by NightingaleLost



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Class Issues, F/M, M/M, Police Brutality, Rating May Change, Warnings May Change, mentions of human slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightingaleLost/pseuds/NightingaleLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago, the Public Servant Reintegration and Restoration Act changed the face of the justice system. After meeting one Franklin Nelson however, budding lawyer Matt Murdock begins to see not all is right with the Program, and that somewhere behind the scenes, someone is pulling all the strings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Good Samaritan

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will follow canon events from the Daredevil Netflix original show. I'm still a little iffy over whether or not I should post this yet, but I'd like some feedback from the community who has been in this longer than I have. This is also the first time writing anything about someone who's blind, so if anyone has any comments on that, they'd be highly appreciated.
> 
> This was inspired after being linked Private Property by poisonivory (NSFW but please read it, it is so good) by a friend and also because I am terrible trash for subverting slave!fic. Enjoy. :)

_“…made history today as Senate signed into effect H.R. 15, otherwise known as the Public Service Reintegration and Restoration Act, at 12:39 P.M., following a long and lengthy session as members of both—“_

_*_

_“…Lawmakers can rest easy after this victory, which has run into several heavy obstacles over the years, most surprisingly the president himself, who refused to sign last year when the bill reached the White House. Listen now to his State of Address from last year, there are several key clips where he—“_

_*_

_“ ‘What do you think will happen now, Governor Markus? You’ve been a key player in this fight, raising money and awareness_ against _this bill for several years now.’_

 _‘There’s not much to say, Linda. We’ve always had problems with our prison system: overcrowding, funding, legal jurisdiction over what was essentially a free labor system,_ profiting _off of the misfortune of others. There’s the belief that this will help solve some of those issues, helping people reintegrate into society instead of keeping them locked up for years.’_

_‘You don’t believe this?’_

_‘No I don’t.’_

_‘With just a couple of months’ hard work, an inmate, who otherwise might have been in the system for_ years _for something as simple as petty theft, can work off their sentence, and not have to spend a day in jail.’_

_‘Believe me, it is nothing of the sort. The premise may sound promising, but it is nothing much than a legal excuse for slavery. There cannot be a system in place where one human being has full legal control over someone else, without running the risk for abuse, in any sense. We fought wars to never have slavery on our soil again, Linda. This is not a victory. This is a failure.’_

_‘What do you say to people who disagree?’_

_‘Nothing. All we can do now is fight to have this law abolished, and quickly. It won’t stop with just inmates serving 25 to life, I can tell you that. It’ll grow, until you won’t be able to think about running a red light without fear of losing your rights as a human being.’_

_‘That’s a little dark, Governor Markus.’_

_‘Believe what you like.’_

_‘Well, thank you for that enlightening interview. A reminder to keep our eyes open as this law goes into effect next month, where the prison system will go a complete overha—‘ ”_

_*_

 

_*_

**_‘Welcome to the Public Service Rehabilitation Program!_**  
**_You have been chosen to participate in this program over incarceration. Over the next few_**  
**_weeks, you will be assigned to a position under supervision by a sponsor, where you can_**  
**_complete the terms of your sentence. Your sponsor will be chosen from a pool of volunteers_**  
**_that will be responsible for your wellbeing during the duration of your sentence. These_**  
**_volunteers have undergone strict background checks and testing to assure both parties are_**  
**_safe, and that you will well cared for._**

**_Your sentence can be completed in a number of ways. You can work in construction, retail,_**  
**_medical and even government assistance! This experience will enable you to integrate more_**  
**_smoothly into society after your sentence, and even bring new skills into your life._**

**_Thank you for your participation, and congratulations!’_ **

*

 

*

 

_Five Years Later_

 

Franklin had never thought about what it meant to be poor. There were birthdays without presents, counting up bills carefully against your bank account, planning every extra item like it was a once in a lifetime luxury. Growing up giving up Christmas presents so Candace could keep on believing in Santa for one more year. But that was the way life was, so what if he had to pick Frosty Flakes over Tony the Tiger when he went shopping? Or got to campus on the bus with his student pass because good bikes were expensive? (And too easy to be stolen, he knew.)

He’d grown up drenched in financial difficulties so hard he couldn’t really tell if that was the way everyone lived or just people around his neighborhood. But his family got by. They always did. They always would, he thought.

Which was why, when the P.S.S. came into class one day during lecture, he knew it wasn’t related to him. Public Service Security, emblazoned in bright yellow stripes, four of them marching into his lecture room with an arrest warrant. Franklin looked around in surprise, seeing the same look mirrored in his classmates’ faces. What were these guys doing here?

In the five years since the PSRaR Act had come into being, the striped yellow over black uniforms had become a common sight on the streets of New York, at least if not many other places in America yet. A better alternative to jail time, you could pay off any kind of charges from speeding tickets to grand theft auto by working under a ‘sponsor’ for a while. So, way better than incarceration…theoretically. Of course you heard the stories. The good ones:

So and so’s cousin couldn’t pay the credit company, so he’d gotten saddled laying grout in company buildings for a year, but came out debt free. A friend ran a red light, got picked up by the local police company to wash their cars for six months. Someone on the neighborhood had gotten caught stealing one too many times, got landed with a sponsor for a year and a half who had a farm that needed maintenance.

And then the bad ones: the friend of a friend of a friend who got picked up and disappeared from the system. Mysterious bruises and broken bones no one talked about. Jobs whispered about on the sly. Women and men going into the system and being found three months later face down in a river somewhere and a sponsor that couldn’t be found. The ones who came out looking twice as worse than they did coming in. Or didn’t come out at all.

But Franklin knew those were just stories. Or at least wanted to believe it anyway, deep inside. It was strange, but there were worse things than having to do some gross job for a while to pay off a couple thousand you wouldn’t have been able to pay off anyway. Still he couldn’t help joining in the nervous smiles and laughter around the classroom as they didn’t go away, showing their professor a warrant. Who was going to get picked up today? Franklin wondered idly if participating in the Reintegration Program would affect a future resume in a room full of lawyer hopefuls.

The whispers picked up as the professor hesitated, pointing out into the room. Franklin startled, looking around. That looked like it had been close to where he was sitting, who was it?

One of the officers stepped up the stairs, quiet ‘excuse me’s echoing around the suddenly silent room. Franklin looked up as he stopped by his chair, confused.

“Franklin Nelson?”

He frowned. “Yeah?”

“Can you come with us please?”

There was a second where Franklin’s stomach went ice cold, but he laughed in disbelief. He could hear the whispers start up again around him, quiet murmurs making their way around the classroom. “What for?”

The officer’s face didn’t change a bit. “You have been placed in the Public Service Reintegration Program, Mr. Nelson.” He handed Franklin the warrant, which he took with an angry hand, scanning it furiously. The officer went on. “You have the right to refuse sponsorship, on peril of incarceration for the period of your sentence. You have the right to ask for a different sponsor if the one chosen for you incites or engages in criminal activities or you feel your personal safety is being threatened; a different sponsor will be found for you. Any further actions held against you while sponsored can and will be used to extend your sentence. Do you understand these rights as they have been rea—“

“ _Debt?!_ ” Franklin interrupted him. “My family’s not in _debt_ , we have a _business_ , for Christ’s sake!”

“Sir, please sit down.”

Franklin hadn’t realized he was standing. He shook with what he hoped was righteous anger at this…this _stupidity_ , but more than a little bit was fear. His family wasn’t in debt. They couldn’t be in debt. Why hadn’t anyone said anything to him? He called home every week, this was insane! “I won’t go anywhere with you until I get a lawyer, I haven’t done anything to be put into the system!”

“Mr. Nelson, your family has already been sentenced, the warrant explains why you were chosen, _please_ calm down—“

“ _Fuck_ the warrant!” Franklin drew back his hand to toss it on the ground,-

There was a scream as a second officer dived through students to tackle him around the middle; people scattered out of their seats as the other two swarmed up the stairs to restrain him. Franklin ended up on his stomach, the weight of the officers holding him down choking him as he struggled to breathe. His chest was slowly being compressed and he heaved, wheezing as he tried to kick out, to do _anything_ , but someone was clasping handcuffs on his wrists too tightly, they _burned_ and people were yelling-

“Pacify him!”

An arm came around his throat, and Franklin howled before the noise got cut off as it tightened around his windpipe. He gagged, gargling as his head was pulled back, trying to tell them he couldn’t fucking _breathe!_ Franklin’s coughs became wheezes, gasps, until his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, darkness fading into the corners of his vision.

Everything came in and out of focus in sections, the feeling of being lifted, then almost dragged, crying sounding far away; he didn’t realize he was in a police car until he was in the backseat halfway to the closest Reintegration Facility, and far too late to do anything about it.

**

*

_Six Months Later_

 

People, at least people in general, had a very unique mindset about what to do when you saw someone with glasses and a white cane out in the world. Move out of the way was a popular opinion. Equally popular was for conversation to hush until they passed by, quiet coos about how terribly it must be to not be able to see, and whether or not they should have offered any help. Option two was to rush forward, get entirely in their space like they were pets, not functional human beings, and loudly ask if they _needed_ any help, assistance, do you want me to get that door for you? And option three, Matt’s _personal_ favorite, were the people who chose to ignore the blind as hard as they possibly could, as if pretending they didn’t exist or have a disability at all were the best option in the world. Usually that happened to people he met more than twice, though.

It all went out the window when you were out in crowded streets, however.

Call it rush hour on foot when most of the public was out and about in force, all hustle and bustle as people came back from lunch, people rushing to get to late afternoon shifts, warm and full from lunches and tourists eager to soak in the sights of a big central city. Much too busy for most people to pay attention to him, Matt got more than his fair share of shoulders brushing against his own, children almost tripping over his cane and a few rushed embarrassed apologies when someone came close enough to knock his arm to the side.

It made going home early such a goddamn hassle he almost wished for late nights at the office. At least then the streets were clear. He probably should have gotten a cab, but that seemed like such a waste with his flat so close by.

He tapped his cane gently against the curb of the street as he waited for the light to turn. Matt felt like he might have some kind of scowl on his face but right now all he wanted to do was get home. His head wasn’t hurting but it felt like it should at this point. Behind him two people were on a call, and despite the noise of the city he could hear them clearly. Four people were texting, someone hadn’t showered in three days, and if that high school kid didn’t find a bathroom soon he was going to piss himself. A woman was shivering slightly, probably a southern tourist unused to the temperature. A man was impatient two people behind him; he could hear the dull click of his flat nails as he tapped them over his phone case. All standard stuff.

Two blocks away a boy was crying. Three, someone was cursing a cyclist who had begun to cross to early. Five, and Matt had to grit his teeth to avoid reacting to the sounds of a young woman being mugged.

The light still hadn’t turned and someone was running, turning the corner. A man. Heavyset, just under his own height. He could smell the salt of his sweat, hear his furious pants. Behind two, no three, officers. P.S.S., the plastic striping on their jackets made a squeaking sound as it rubbed against the sides of the sleeves.

“Stop! Hey, stop!”

They weren’t close enough for the rest of the people at the crossing to hear them, although Matt cocked his head slightly, reluctantly listening.

The officers closed in on the man at the same time the crossing light pinged; Matt lost interest as the noise of shuffling, heels clicking, pushing up the dust and smells of the baking street asphalt, took precedence over the running man. He took a step forward and down; Matt had only half a second to realize the angry curse was right behind him before a weight slammed into him. He went flying onto the road as the running man barreled out of the small crowd waiting for the light, shoving people out of the way. Matt barely landed on a hand and knees, narrowly avoiding having his head smacked into the asphalt.

The sudden change sent his senses into a reel, for a moment his concentration broke and everything came flooding in, rotting sewage and crackling acrid taste of electricity coursing in the powerlines above; Matt could taste what everyone in the block had for lunch and his stomach lurched.

 _Christ_ , that man could run.

Everything snapped back into place quickly, he sensed his cane just ahead of him as the running man turned his head, going from 60 to 0 in less than a second.

“ _Shit!_ Sorry, sorry, are you ok!”

The man’s heart was racing from exertion but his voice was sincere. Matt opened his mouth to say he was fine, biting back the harsher response he wanted to make, taking in the mess the man had left behind. People were helping up a young girl who was also on the floor, she had a scraped palm but she’d be fine, a man was brushing the street dust from the pants as he got up, angry calls and distasteful mutters echoing from the rest. Two women were taking steps to approach him, but they startled with gasps and jumps as the three P.S.S. officers busted through the recovering crowd, sending them into panic again.

The man jumped to race away but he was too late to escape; one of the officers pushed him to the ground. Matt smelled the old metal of the handcuffs hanging off the officer’s belt long before they were whipped out to clasp over the man’s wrists.

One of the female officers came to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright sir?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright. “ He flashed a smile in her general direction, grudgingly thankful when she handed him his cane easily. Matt listened to the spike of interest in her heartbeat, letting her lay a hand on his elbow to guide him to the other side of the road. “Thank you for the help,” he started, and then stopped as he heard the running man grunt in sudden pain as the other two officers yanked him roughly to his feet, shaking him.

“Get up, asshole, one run and all of a sudden you can’t even get up?”

“Maybe if you stopped yanking on me like a do-OW!” The man yelped as the second officer slapped him upside the head. The rest of the crowd had already lost interest, parting around them like they didn’t exist.

Matt heard the fear and anger in the man as he made a noise, then another when the first officer pulled up on his handcuffs, yanking his arms up on his back enough to send shocks of pain through his system. “Is he going to be ok?” he asked.

The officer who had helped him up soured, hands on her hips, voice going down a shade in distaste. “That guy? Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. Let’s just get you on your way, sir.”

Matt let the officer ‘see him safely’ a little down the street until she was sure he would be fine, then kept on walking forward, cane tapping along when he knew she was watching him go.

As soon as she was gone he turned back, tracking the four of them as they dragged the man to a car and then drove away; back to the Reintegration Facility on 23rd, he realized, the closest one to their location. Not too far then, that must be where the man was from.

Something about that entire conversation had rubbed him the wrong way, and Matt put aside his earlier frustration to make sure he didn’t lose track of the slowly moving car. Thank God traffic was pretty high around this time of day. Of course he had heard about the PSRaR Act from a couple of years ago, he’d just been getting ready to apply to university when it was passed. And the Program, still fresh and brand new by anyone’s standards, they’d all been given a run down in the lecture rooms and in hastily updated textbooks.

He’d never looked too deeply into it. He knew the firm he was interning at, Landman & Zack frequently counseled their clients to accept the Program instead of a term in the slammer. There were still a few kinks that were going to be worked out as the system came into fruition around the country, but Matt had always thought it was a solid idea. He knew a lot of people could benefit from a system that kept a black mark of prison out of your records, could clear debt completely without going bankrupt. Kept a solid roof over your head and a sponsor to help you out.

He knew he himself would have liked something like that when he was younger. When he still had his dad around.

Matt hadn’t caught any cases that would take any longer than six months in the Reintegration Program and lack of free time and emotional motivation had cut down on him taking an interest in figuring out all the ins and outs of the system, but as far as he knew it wasn’t a _bad_ place to be. There were several Facilities in the city where the sentenced were allowed to stay before a sponsor was chosen for them, sort of like halfway houses. They were sheltered and clothed and fed, given medical attention, etc.

Not chased down and then _manhandled_ into a police car with yanking and blows like a goddamn fugitive.

Matt kept out of sight around the block corner as the car reached the small parking lots of the 23rd Street Reintegration Facility of NYC, concentrating. He caught the tail end of a name as they opened the door to pull him out, “-third time since you’ve been here, Nelson, how’d you like another six months on your sentence?”

“Go to hell, McKinley.”

“Makes you wish they’d just tossed you in the hole, with a mouth like that.”

Whatever ‘Nelson’ wanted to say in return was cut off with a blow to the stomach that no one was around to see, Matt scowling as he caught the tail end wheeze of Nelson trying to catch his breath.

Nelson was taken through the wide glass doors, down an elevator, and Matt’s frown deepened when wherever he was taken from there, everything was suddenly _muffled_. Was that a soundproofed floor? There were few things this close he couldn’t get a sense from, and that didn’t exactly make him feel better about whatever was going on in here. There were air currents coming from up below, a ventilation system and cracks wide enough to feel the air, tiny scents of medical supplies and bleach, but overall it was a sudden drop in input that made him uneasy.

He waited a few moments before he stepped in, running through everything that he knew about the Program in his head. Sponsors would put in an application for the person they wanted to sponsor, and it wasn’t like those forms were short, or cheap. Sponsors were responsible for their beneficiary, they were vetted to make sure they had room and board, the ability to feed, clothe and provide medical attention to them; they were put through background checks, security checks, and drug testing to ensure the highest possible safety for both parties. Their companies were checked out; their plans for the beneficiary were carefully examined, and reexamined. Once an appropriate sponsor was chosen they would be given legal rights over their beneficiary for the time period of their sentence.

And that was it. Pitifully small and nothing he couldn’t have gotten straight out of one of the pamphlets littering the waiting rooms in courtrooms. Nothing in depth. And nothing that quite hid the distasteful words of ‘given legal rights over’. So sure, that part could be a little sketchy. He at least knew that.

With all this in mind, Matt approached the welcome desk in front of the lobby. To either side there was wide glass walls, a low bar acting as a desk, and phones every four feet. It reminded him of the visitor’s center in prisons. The glass  _blurred_ everything past it, but through the slatted vents on the tops of the walls for air circulation came what he needed to know. He took in the scent of mildew and rot in the wood, peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceilings. The overpowering scent of unwashed men and women was almost offensive, but even above that he heard the anxiety in so many heartbeats he nearly stopped dead. Fear, stress and the smell of piss hung over the entire building like a miasma, and he _hated_ it.

He still didn’t know what he wanted to do here, but he knew he wasn’t walking out of this building without having done _something_.

“Hello sir, how can I help you?”

There was an older man at the welcome desk, tired, balding, and someone Matt could already tell probably wasn’t going to be of much help. He braced himself internally, reaching forward with one hand to feel for the desk top. He put on his best winning smile.

“Yes, thank you, I’m looking for a beneficiary here, last name Nelson? I was told he may have been put into this district’s facility.”

If he was expecting a fight for information, Matt had been sadly mistaken. The man snorted. “ _Frankie_? Big fat guy? Yeah he’s here, I’d know ‘im even if he wasn’t the only Nelson we had in the building. Friend of yours? ”

“Friend of his father actually.”

The man made a noise in the back of his throat. “Could do with some better ones, that boy’s a menace. What do you want with him, he’s been in and out of here for halfa year, and it’s gonna be more before he learns his lesson.”

Matt didn’t let his smile dim for one second. “I was wondering if you could tell me a little about him. His father and I go back a bit, and I wanted to help him, if I could.”

He heard the sound of a chair creaking forward, smell the new wave of sweat and cheap cologne as the man leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Listen son, you seem like you got a good head on your shoulders. Don’t even bother with that kid, there’s plenty o’ people here that’ve got a future ahead of ‘em.” The man dropped his voice a little. “What’re you lookin’ for, some help around? Company? Lots of nice young ladies I know here who’d be happy to _get sponsored_ , if y’catch my drift. I could give you the applications for ‘em, make it real easy.”

Only by the grace of the good God himself did Matt not reach over to _throttle_ this disgusting stain on humanity in front of him. But if it was by God’s hand that he didn’t commit murder, it was by the very devil that enabled Matt to nod and chuckle as if it were all a big joke.

“I’m sure there are, but maybe some other time.”

The man sat back down in his chair with a huff, disappointed. Matt didn’t think he was supposed to catch the ‘ _fuckin’ good Samaritans_ ’ he muttered under his breath as he plugged something into a computer.

“Let’s see, Franklin Nelson…his family has a couple of problems with credit companies, he’s workin’ it off. Supposed to be in for just a year, but some shit happened with his previous two sponsors and he’s been in and out…got his sentence up to three years now.” The man paused. “Like I said, he’s got some black marks. What d’you even wanna do for this guy, what are you, some kinda lawyer?”

“Something like that.”

“Hmm.” Matt heard the wariness in the man’s tone, and made a sudden decision.

“I’d like to sponsor him. Help him on his feet.”

Matt sensed the man shaking his head. “You’d need a crane to get that one up on his feet. Alright, I’ll get you the forms and you can fill ‘em out here.”

Matt hesitated. “I usually take forms home and have them read to me.”

“Sign ‘em here or don’t sign at all.” _There_ was that belligerent attitude he had been expecting from the beginning. Matt could have popped his eyes out with his thumbs as well as strangled him. But he agreed, already starting to second guess his decision. He couldn’t sponsor someone, what would he even do to them?

The dick at the front desk unexpectedly helped him out on that front. “Want ‘im as a seeing eye guide, right?”

Matt sighed in relief quietly. “Yes.”

“Right, that makes things a little easier, I guess…” the man muttered. “Gonna need your address, some form of ID with a picture, and how you’re gonna pay.”

Matt winced. Right. Forms didn’t come cheap. “How much is it to file for sponsorship?”

“If it’s just for one person it’ll be about $5,960, if you’re lookin’ to remain open for sponsorship after him it’ll run you higher than that. But it’ll be a little cheaper for you ‘cause you’re blind. Maybe around $5,300.”

Matt almost went dizzy. Jesus, almost six thousand dollars just to apply, and no guarantee he’d even be able to help the guy. He was attempting to sponsor a man, not adopt him. He pulled out his state ID before he could think too much about it, and his debit card, trying not to think about what was going to do to his savings. He didn’t even have a secure job at Landman & Zack yet, he was still only an intern.

“My address is on the ID.” Was the only thing he said.

The man grunted, taking it from him and starting his typing again. Matt waited, wishing that they’d at least tried for some chairs here. After long moments of fingers on keys, then giving him his phone number and place of employment, the old printer on the desk clattered to life, spitting out pages still warm from the ink.

“Right, sign here.”

Matt could hear perfectly well where the pen was tapping, but he reached forward slowly until his hand hit the point of the pen, signing carefully. No point in asking the guy to read through some of it, he’d never agree to it. He was going to have to get a copy of these forms, and he was damn well going to get them before the week was over. He had to sign in two more places, and place his initials in four.

“Okay you’ll get a call soon then, Mr. Murdock.”

He finally dropped the last vestiges of the smile on his face. “Do you need my income information? What about drug testing?”

The man waved absently, and Matt heard his clothes shift as he shrugged. “It’ll all get sorted.”

“…can I speak to him today? To Franklin?”

“Sorry bud, we’re not having visitors today.”

Matt could sense clearly the few people sitting by the glass walls, talking with beneficiaries. Visiting hours, his _ass_. But he let it go with a nod and a smile. “Thank you for your time, and help.”

“Yeah, have a nice day.”

*

With everything that was involved with the Reintegration Program, Matt fully expected radio silence until at least a couple of weeks had passed, and plenty of time to regret the hefty chunk of change missing from his carefully built up savings account.

There were still the necessary background checks, and he expected them to go deep in depth with their searches, not to mention the drug tests, psych tests, and careful examination of his lifestyle. All in all, lots of cogs to be moved in the government machine, and that wasn’t a machine that could be rushed.

So when he got an automated call later that night telling him his application for one Franklin P. Nelson had been accepted, and that he would be ready for pick up in the morning, all he could think about was how his apartment _definitely_ wasn’t ready for guests.


	2. Will He Not Leave The Ninety-Nine On The Hill?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, this fic will not have regular updates. I'm sort of flying by the seat of my pants as I write this, and I'm attempting to keep a chapter in between what I post and what I actually have written down.
> 
> Tags and ratings WILL change as this fic goes on. Everything is very fluid right now and nothing is written in stone, so we may just have like some really wild violence shit go down, I don't know haha. I will attempt to warn before each chapter starts if some stuff is going to go down, however. Anyway, thanks to everyone who commented so far, I hope you enjoy the new chapter :D

**

*

The next morning was cold, and the air was crisp and sharp in his nose. Perfect for helping with the smell of the Facility, which was no less pungent today than it had been yesterday. The only thing different was the new smell of one Franklin Nelson, who was in the lobby area waiting with an officer. Matt could feel the heat of the bruises on his cheek, smell the remnant blood under his jacket. Whatever had been done to him when he had been taken underground hadn’t been pretty, and Matt could already feel his knuckles clench over the top of his cane. His heartbeat was steady, though, that was good. Nothing hurt internally, no smell of sickness other than what was lingering on him from the building.

If he was expecting fanfare and confetti though, he was mistaken again; there was a different woman today at the front desk and she guided him through the release forms, reading aloud parts for him before he signed to bind Franklin legally to himself. When he asked for a copy of the original forms he had signed yesterday she was more than happy to comply.

All in all, it took less than an hour before he was ready, and aside from a sudden jolt in Franklin’s heartbeat when Matt knew he recognized him, everything went smoothly. The officers pressed into his hands more pamphlets, rattled off some bullshit reminder to make sure he checked in every three weeks and gave him a small chain. A mechanical square dangled at the end of it, Matt traced the edge of a button in the center and had a general idea of what it was for.

“What is this?”

“That’s an alarm, sir,” one said. “If at any moment during your sponsorship you feel in danger or need help, press this button and the authorities will be alerted. Your files and the files of your beneficiary are connected to the identification number of the alarm. Beneficiaries are tagged with an ankle bracelet, and it’ll help track them down as well.”

Matt didn’t for a second miss how stiff Franklin had become at the small speech. “Ah, thank you.”

He slipped it into his coat pocket and turned to face Franklin, who hadn’t said a word yet. His heartbeat was still a little faster than normal. Nerves? Anxiety probably. Nothing like the mouthy steamroller he’d been ‘introduced’ to yesterday.

He put his hand out into the air between them. “I’m Matt Murdock.”

“…I know who you are.” And by the surprised way he said it, Matt had no doubts about that. Had he met this man before? On campus maybe? In passing?

Franklin seemed to realize Matt was still waiting. “Oh! Right, sorry,” he reached out a hand to clasp Matt’s own and shake it. He had a firm grip; clearly not a doormat. “Nelson. Franklin Nelson.” To the side, the officer gave them a look, apparently decided that nothing was going to happen if he just left and proceeded to do just that, leaving them alone.

Matt gestured to the side. “Pleasure to meet you, Franklin. My flat isn’t too far away, so we can settle you in quickly. Do you have everything you need? Missing a toothbrush?”

The last sentence dragged a chuckle out of the still wary Franklin. “Nah, I should be ok. I didn’t have much here to begin with.” Matt cocked his head curiously and Franklin backpedaled quickly. “Uh, well you know, clothes are about it. Gotta leave your collection of signed baseballs with the family, right?”

“Right, right,” Matt smiled. Though he joked, Matt heard only the subtle polyester slide of a full duffel bag carried over his shoulder, although the only things inside were clean clothes, and a couple of things in a plastic bag. It was loosely closed enough he could smell the bathroom on it, toothpaste and soap mixed with water. He probably did have his own toothbrush on him. Matt wasn’t really sure what else he had been expecting, but Franklin was right. They sure as hell weren’t running a five start hotel here.

“Should we go?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, lead the way.” Franklin hefted his bag up higher, and it took him only a moment before he realized what he had said. “Shit, sorry, that was–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt said. He was gratified to hear the sincerity in the apology even if he found it more funny than anything, although Franklin’s muscles still creaked with the tension in him. Still wary, he supposed. “I do know my own way home from here.”

He tapped his cane back toward the front door, and he felt the movements in the air as the woman at the desk leaned forward to wave at Franklin. “Good luck, Foggy!”

“Heh, thank you Linda.” The heat in Franklin’s cheeks rose, and his heartbeat fluttered as he waved back at her. Matt waited until they had passed before he asked.

“Foggy?”

“Nickname. Don’t worry about it.” Franklin tensed up so hard Matt was surprised he didn’t break anything. Alright, so not a name for Matt to call him by then. They reached the glass doors and Franklin perked up a little.

“Let me get that!” He jumped forward, pushing it open for Matt to step through.

The streets around here were blessedly empty this early in the morning, although Matt was just glad not to have to deal with crowds today. He did end up leading the way down the sidewalk, tapping out the way gently. They walked for a minute in silence before Franklin finally asked whatever had been dangling on the tip of his tongue.

“You…wanted someone to help you around right? Like those service dogs?”

“A sighted guide, yes.” Matt corrected him. Of course he had no such intentions originally but hey, if that’s the lie he had to tell to help this guy. Sure.

Franklin was quiet for another minute. “Sorry for yesterday. You were the one I knocked down right? I recognized you.”

Matt thought for a second. “Is that why you said you knew me? From yesterday?”

“No, no!” The excitement in Franklin’s voice was sudden, but a welcome change. “I knew you already! Well, I knew you from the papers, way back when. You were all over the news when I was a kid, you saved a guy when you were only eight!”

“Nine.” Matt shook his head, almost a little flattered. That was so long ago…a hell of a long time to remember some blind kid in the newspapers. “You also grew up in Hell’s Kitchen then.”

“Yup, born and raised. All my family was born here actually.” Franklin couldn’t have sounded more proud had he won the Nobel Prize. “The Nelsons have been here for years.” He hesitated. “So, why’d you want to sponsor me? How did you even find me?”

Matt didn’t miss a beat. “I just wanted to help someone out. This was the closest Facility to home; must’ve just been a coincidence.”

“I see.”

Matt knew Franklin didn’t believe one word of it.

**

*

Franklin ‘Foggy’ P. Nelson was not a very religious man. He believed in luck and coincidences, and maybe probably some vague order to the universe that said some things were just meant to pass.

But it was going to be one _cold day in Hell_ when he swallowed the load of bullshit Murdock told him about ‘coincidences’.

He was still feeling the punishment from yesterday around his ribs, and he guessed it was at least a good thing his new sponsor couldn’t see the bruises on his face. Curious pity wasn’t exactly what he was looking for right now.

Foggy couldn’t help it though, the running. He knew he was in the Program until the sentence was over, he _knew_ his family’s very safety piggybacked on how well and quickly he served their terms. But God, one more night there and he would have gone insane. Anything was better than shoved into those cramped quarters, forbidden to go outside, unable to eat anything but the measly amounts of crap they called food, counting down the seconds until you got a sponsor so at least you could taste that outside air. Even escape attempts he knew would fail were worth trying.

When they’d come into his shared room that night to tell him they’d found him yet another sponsor, Foggy had to hold back with every inch of strength he had to not spit in their faces. Mostly because his ribs ached, and if he sat up he thought he might just hurl. His roommate hadn’t been in at the time to give congratulations, but he’d gotten a visitor afterwards.

The bedsprings creaked as a weight settled at the edge of it, and Foggy groaned when he saw who it was over his shoulder. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that jacket, man, it’s horrible.”

Brett chuckled lowly, “Sorry, Foggy. But it’s standard issue.”

“Yellow gives me a headache.”

“Go figure.” Brett shook his head.

Foggy hadn’t know what to expect when he’d first come to the Rehabilitation Facility on 23rd, but it’d been a hell of a lot easier when he discovered his childhood friend Brett Mahoney was part of the P.S.S. doing security on the building. He couldn’t even say he was surprised; Brett’s dream growing up had always been to be a police officer. He guessed yellow stripes weren’t all too far off from being a boy in blue. At least he seemed happy.

Foggy groaned. “I hate it. And I hate that nickname.”

Brett outright laughed at that one. “No you don’t, you love it. Don’t even lie.”

“I do love it.” Foggy grumbled into his pillow. “It’s my favorite part about being stuck here.”

He hadn’t been sure of when exactly everyone on his floor had simultaneously decided to call him ‘Foggy’ instead of Franklin or Frankie, but it had spread so fast around the building that it might as well have been the name he was born with. It made him feel a little like a rebel, having a nickname given to him by the rest of the beneficiaries, like something out of a crime novel instead of being surrounded by people who were basically in the Program just for being poor, or at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“So, heard you got another sponsor.” Brett said casually. Too casually.

Foggy turned around onto his back, facing his friend. “You heard something?”

“Not much this time.” Brett admitted. “I know he came in here yesterday and asked specifically for a ‘Nelson’. Paul wouldn’t shut up about it in the break room.”

Foggy almost thought it’d be worth it just to sit up, just for dramatic effect. “What? You’re joking. You get a name?”

“No, Paul has the memory of a goldfish; he wouldn’t remember his own birthday if he didn’t get something out of it.” Brett leaned on the bedpost, looking at him. “I did get something out of him though.”

Foggy was almost afraid to ask what it was. Another distribution center? God he didn’t think he could go back into that. Maybe it was a name he knew, one of those people who worked for a corporation that you _knew_ you weren’t going to come back from. He’d only been in for six months and he’d already lost friends to it. “What?”

“He’s blind. Looking for some kind of companion.” Brett smiled at him as Foggy’s heart gave an unsettling thump. “See? This could be good for you! I know…things haven’t gone so well, and there’s been some…incidents, but this could be the sponsor for you, Foggy. A couple of years leading this guy around and you’re back home studying to be that lawyer you wanted to be.”

“Yeah...sounds good.” Foggy said faintly. Blind? He thought suddenly of that guy he knocked over earlier that day. It was impossible it was the same guy. Impossible, and yet…God _fucking_ forbid he ran into someone tied into the Program. Shit that would be just his luck. He shook himself internally. No, he was just being paranoid. He’d been in here too long.

Brett hadn’t noticed his lapse. “We’re gonna celebrate the day you’re out. Listen, three years? It’ll be over before you know it.” He nudged Foggy’s leg with an elbow; Foggy barely managed to repress the grunt of pain that wanted to come out as Brett accidentally touched the large bruise under his shin. Damn guards.

“Sounds like a plan.” Foggy grinned, and promised himself that as soon as Brett was gone, he was going to get an extra-large pack of ice, damn whoever he had to bribe to get it.

**

*

They reached his place without incident, although Matt could feel Franklin get more and more tense since the moment they’d stepped into his buildings elevator. He brought out his key to let them in, laying his cane to the side of the door where it always rested. After a moment’s thought he touched the light switch to the right, turning it on.

He could feel the movement of Franklin looking around. “…nice place you got here, Murdock.”

“Please, call me Matt.” He knew exactly where the couch was but he touched it as he passed, because he could feel Franklin’s eyes on him. Oh this was going to go swimmingly, he could already tell. He would have started to regret it but for the fact that he could still smell the clotted blood of bruises under Franklin’s clothes. “Have you had anything to eat yet?” Yes he had but it wasn’t enough, he smelled the ham and cheese of sandwiches and water, smelled the stale scent of freezer food stored for too long until it was hard and tasteless...but that was about it. “We can order some takeout, or if you don’t want to wait I can whip up something quick.” It had been a while since he'd had any takeout..

He almost grinned when he heard the grumbling of the other man’s stomach, though Franklin was quick to refuse. “No, no that’s okay, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Matt felt for the domino shaped watched on his wrist, counted dots. “It’s past noon; I’m starved.”

Franklin hesitated for exactly two seconds. “…well alright. But!” He cut in as Matt moved in the direction of the small kitchen. “Maybe some takeout? Mexican?”

Scared he’d burn the house down? Well he couldn’t blame him. Even with super senses, cooking by itself was difficult. “Sure. I know a couple of places that’re good.” He reached over to grab one of the three papers hanging on the fridge, making his way slowly to Franklin.

“Try the third one, their sopes are incredible.” He held the paper out but Franklin didn’t take it. He heard Franklin’s stomach actually clench, his breathing suddenly going hard. He sensed the muscles on his face contort. Franklin didn’t say a word, and he put out his empty hand as well, palm up. “Franklin? You still there?”

That seemed to snap him out of whatever he was in, and Franklin sighed. “I don’t…have a phone. Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Matt stood there stupidly for a second before pulling back. He’d never thought about things like phones. Stuff that required a monthly payment. Sponsors paid for food and a place to stay when they took in a beneficiary, but did they pay for phones? Should he? Franklin couldn’t have any savings, not after six months in and out with sponsors in the Program.

“Sorry. Here.” He pulled his own phone out of his own pocket and held it out with the paper. “Order what you want, just order a plate of barbacoa for me.”

“Uh, thanks Murdock.”

“Matt,” He reminded him. “I’’ll show you your room.”

He led him to a smaller room off the left wall where the bathroom and his own bedroom were, nudging open the thin door and flipping on the light again. It wasn’t quite as big as Matt’s own room, and it was fairly bare. Just a bed, a dresser and closet. A nightstand and lamp. He hadn’t touched it since he had moved in, although he’d been sure to at least wash the sheets and give it a good pass over with the broom before he’d gone to pick up Franklin.

“I don’t have a T.V., sorry. Never found much use for them a radio couldn’t give me.” He leaned down to tap the bed. “Laundry room’s down in the basement, if you ever need it. And I’ll get you a spare key.”

Franklin put his duffel bag down, still holding Matt’s phone and paper. He seemed a little lost.

Matt waited a minute for him to react, “Everything all right there?”

“…yeah! Yeah just got a little sidetracked, sorry.” Franklin sat down on the bed, “Let me just call this place.”

“Sure. I’ll let you get settled.” Matt shuffled off and went to his own bedroom, shedding his coat as he concentrated.

In the next room, Franklin walked around, his footsteps quiet and gentle on the floor. His heartbeat seemed to have settled, and his breathing sounded alright. He ran his fingers over the wood of the dresser, opened the closet door…and then proceeded to check under every single item of furniture. Matt was taken aback, wondering why exactly someone would need to slide out every drawer in the nightstand and run their fingers under the tops.

Matt had to take a minute before he finally got an inkling of what was going on. ‘ _Is he…checking for bugs?_ ’

Why in the world would he need to check if his room was _bugged_? Matt didn’t get much chance to think about it, as Franklin sighed, sitting down heavily in his bed. Just a bout of paranoia? What was going on? He heard Franklin begin to dial on his phone, and let the noises and scents wash over him as he took in that he really was calling the taqueria Tehuitzingo a couple blocks away.

None of this was adding up. Matt pulled a new shirt over his head, the gears beginning to turn. The Program was a way to help people, to get them out of jail and help against the stigma of ‘felons’ in the job industry. And yet instead of a smooth running government machine, he’d been greeted with dilapidated buildings filled with rot and the stink of fear, and people crammed into them like sardines in a tin can. There was a major lack of upkeep; he was pretty goddamn sure no one had even bothered with the simplest of background checks before he’d been approved to be a sponsor, no way to even be sure he hadn’t been someone with less than ideal intentions. The food he had smelled on Franklin was worse than what he knew they served in the county jail, and so small he was surprised there weren’t people dropping dead of malnutrition. There might be, he wouldn’t even know if all the information he got was from the media.

Franklin was covered with bruises, and he hadn’t been yesterday. How far did their neglect of sponsors go? Did it extend to guards, perhaps? There were lots of people who liked a little bit of power…and loved using it any way they could.

He hadn’t checked yet the records that had been given to him when he picked Franklin up, stuff like medical records, criminal history—though he doubted there would be much of the latter, the man was in the Program because of debt, not criminal activities—but as far as he could tell, Franklin was a healthy, sane man. A (hopefully) law abiding man. Not someone who should be staging escapes down the street from police. _Definitely_ not someone who should be wearing boot prints on his ribs and checking a room for listening devices.

Matt frowned. Something smelled fishy around here, and he didn’t need heightened senses to know he was going to get to the bottom of it.


	3. And Did You Feed Me When I Was Hungry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 on mobile seems to have a thing against italics and I'm posting this at work (oops) so if there's any weird things in the formatting or something I'll fix them when I go home :D. I know it's a bit shorter than usual, sorry umu
> 
> As usual, thanks to every one that commented, and I hope you enjoy.

**

*

Foggy didn’t know what he was doing here. He was sitting in the penthouse flat of a blind man, the _same man_ he had literally run into yesterday afternoon after stupidly attempting to go on the lam, sitting on a bed ordering taquitos and coke over the phone.

This _felt_ ridiculous.

By any other measure, this would be great. For once the Program had come through, had found him something he was capable of, a way of giving back to the city and at the same time helping his family erase the debt that had piled up since he had gone off to college. It had worked the way it was _meant_ to work. Matt Murdock seemed to be a handsome, respectable member of the community whose only wish was for someone to help with the rough edges that came on occasion with being blind. He was gonna have his work cut out for him as he figured out how to actually be a sighted guide, but that was to be expected.

So, win-win right…?

If only there wasn’t _something_ about the entire situation that made Foggy want to run for the hills. Sure, Murdock seemed nice. His _place_ was nice, if a little bare. He looked a hell of a lot different than he had the last time he had seen him, but Foggy could admit that nine year olds in the paper had the habit of growing up. And that red hair sure hadn’t dimmed one bit; of all the newspapers Foggy saw, that was the one detail that had always struck him the most. He sounded well-mannered, and had a nice, easy smile.

But Foggy also remembered a guy he knew in the dorms of Columbia during freshman year. He’d had the same friendly smile, same soft tone of voice. He’d also been expelled two weeks before semesters end for breaking someone’s jaw in the library. Foggy wasn’t going to judge a book by its cover after _that_.

…so maybe checking the room for bugs once Murdock had left was going a bit far; he didn’t even know what a real bug was going to look like, and he was sure T.V. shows probably didn’t have it right. But he couldn’t begin to describe the fear he felt as they took that lonely elevator up to the top. It was a bit too reminiscent of mob bosses in movies for his liking, and Foggy didn’t exactly want to be wiped out of the book of life without a fight of his own. Not that he’d instantly try to fight someone! That would be pretty terrible. But if Matt Murdock had in fact been leading him up here to take him out with an entire team of hired hitmen for knocking him down the other day, then he wanted to be ready.

“Uh, yeah, no problem. Ok. Okay thanks.” Foggy hung up, staring at the phone in his hands.

Nope, still seemed like a normal apartment for a normal dude. And he was seriously thinking about reconsidering his belief in a higher power. Well maybe he wouldn’t go that far. But he’d at least give Murdock the benefit of a second doubt…or seventh, considering the amount of times he had wavered back and forth about him in the last thirty minutes. He took another look around the room before peeking out. He could hear shuffling in the next room, guessed correctly that his sponsor was doing something in his bedroom.

“Mu—Matt?” He corrected himself quickly. No need to get on this guy’s bad side until he figured out a few things first. “They said it’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“Great.” Matt emerged from his bedroom, shuffling toward the big couch. His leg brushed the coffee table as he went around and he corrected himself slightly, sitting down. He gestured vaguely in front of him, Foggy assumed he meant the armchairs. “You mind if we talk before the food gets here?”

“Sure.”

“There’s a few…call them _requests_ , I want to make of you.” The stress Matt put on that word made Foggy a little tense. Requests huh? What kind of requests? He didn’t care how good looking Matt was, he pulled anything and Foggy was going to knock him out cold.

Matt went on when Foggy didn’t respond. “Number one…please don’t move the furniture.”

Oh. Foggy relaxed all at once, waving his hands. “No, of course not! I am totally down with that.”

“Number two,” Matt started putting up fingers. “Try not to leave stuff on the floor, please.”

Foggy nodded hurriedly. Then paused. “Oh uh, I just nodded. I can do that.”

“Three, please don’t bring anything really strong-smelling home.” Matt’s lips under his black glasses turned a little bit. “This one is a bit more of a personal request. Things like really strong perfumes, shampoos, I’m not very good with any of those. Same thing goes for incense and candles. And on that note, no loud noises please. We may be up top, but we can still bother the neighbors.” He smiled again. “You may want to rethink any parties you had planned recently.”

Foggy didn’t know what to say, this was definitely not what he was expecting. All his experiences and the rumors he’d heard up to this point with the Program made him want to believe this was going to be bad, but everything that Matt was doing was…ok. It was more than ok, in fact, it was downright _normal_. He tried for words. “Yeah, yeah that all sounds good. I can do that. Don’t worry, I’ll run it by you if I want to have any MTV Spring Break parties down in here.”

Matt leaned back. “We’ll see what we can whip up on our slow days,” he quipped. He paused; and although he wasn’t staring directly at Foggy, Foggy had the eerie sense that Matt could see straight through him. “House rules aside, we can take this day by day. We’ll check in every three weeks at the Rehabilitation Facility and the government will pay out the stipend to the company you owe. I’ve been told your sentence has been extended, but I think this will work out.” The smile he gave Foggy was blinding, no pun intended.

Foggy had the sneaking suspicion that Matt Murdock, in another life, had been a snake charmer.

**

*

The barbacoa, incidentally, was delicious.

*

Foggy lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. They’d eaten their take-out without too much of a fuss, and they had talked for a while. He learned Matt was interning at Landman and Zack, a big time law firm (he’d tried not to feel too jealous at hearing that). He got to and back from work alright as he’d been working there for a few months, so Foggy wouldn’t have to worry too much about him getting there. He hadn’t offered much in the way of his own life, but Matt didn’t seem to mind, or notice.

Aside from work, he stayed at home mostly, worked on cases he could take home and run through his audio translator, read novels, and on occasion took walks through the park. Standard bachelor stuff. Pretty much exactly what Foggy had envisioned his own life before shit had hit the fan. Maybe with a little less bacon cheesecakes than he would have wanted, but Foggy wasn’t going to go blame a man for not having experienced heavenly bliss on earth yet.

If he were honest with himself, he would say he had gotten a pretty good deal. Perhaps Brett was right, and the three years would fly. It’d be just like living on campus, Foggy consoled himself. It would be _way_ better than his last roommate, really. That guy had been a control freak.

After that Matt had taken him down to see where the laundry room was below in the building’s basement, and introduced him to the landlord, explaining that he had a new seeing eye guide. Foggy noticed that he mentioned nothing about being in the Program. Before Foggy knew it, it was getting dark and he was holding back yawns. Matt had decided to turn in early for work tomorrow and Foggy thought that was a pretty good idea.

“Do you need anything?” He heard Matt call from his bedroom. Matt appeared around the doorway carrying a huge folded load of covers and Foggy jumped up. “I know the blankets here are a little thin, so I brought some more.”

“I can get those,” Foggy said, lifting the stack from Matt’s hands. “Yeah, thanks. I think I’ll be fine with all this.”

“Alright, just shout out if you need anything.”

“Pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to say that,” Foggy said, and Matt laughed.

“Maybe once you figure out where everything is.” Matt said before moving off. “Goodnight Franklin.”

Foggy closed the door, laying out the covers before sliding under them. He stared back up into the ceiling again. He was going to have to find a way to call his mom in the next few days, tell her where he was now. She got worried if he didn’t check in every so often. He sighed, turning over.

Maybe if you just forget the fact that Matt hunted you down for some reason and this all felt too good to be true, you can be friends, he tried to tell himself.

He snorted.

Yeah right.

**

*

Matt lay back in bed, eyes wide and staring. He had tracked Franklin’s heartbeat and breathing, the scent of his freshly showered hair soaking into the pillow as he fell asleep.

And it had taken him all of three minutes to understand fully just why the people at the Facility had called Franklin _‘Foggy_ ’.

This couldn’t be real; there was no way a human being could be able to produce this sound without destroying their vocal cords and every pane of glass on the block. And yet here he was, and _Foggy_ ’s fucking snoring had him clutching two pillows to his ears. It wasn’t helping. He swore he could feel it rattling it around in his ribs.

He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t have this man in his house. Was this a nightly occurrence? Did he do this every time he fell asleep?

Matt was going to kill this man before he ever helped him.

**

*

He did _not_ kill him, but it was a very close thing.


	4. To You I Give Five Talents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty amazed, my hit counter jumped up over two hundred since I posted chapter three and that's been so inspiring you don't even know. My friend AJ, who pretty much is the reason this fic exists, recently went off to college, so I've been feeling a little stuck in a rut with no one else to talk Daredevil with. But you guys are definitely helping keep me on track, haha.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter :D

Foggy woke up the next morning feeling like a new man. There was just something about sleeping on a fresh clean bed that made yesterday’s troubles seem like last _year_ ’s. It was so different than anything he’d slept on since he’d entered the Program and he welcomed the change. He yawned and stretched before sitting up. To his rooms left he could hear the thin sounds of a radio show playing; Matt must have it on for the morning. Foggy got up, wondering what to do next. Shower, probably, then seeing what Matt had in his fridge or if he’d spring for some McDonald’s. He knew he should still be a little cautious, but even he couldn’t stay wary after such a good sleep, even if his brain was really making the attempt to do so.

Foggy found, to his utmost delight, that Matt had the changeable showerhead over his bathtub, and spent at least five minutes just standing under the hot spray as it beat circles on his back. God what a difference. He emerged from the bathroom clean and fresh and ready for a new day, when he noticed that Matt was not in the living room. Or the kitchen. He stopped at the doorframe in the middle of fixing his tie, attempting to listen; he could still hear the tiny voice of the radio through the glass door of Matt’s room, but nothing else. Where was he?

Foggy peeked in his own room first, just in case, face inching out behind the doorframe like he used to do as a child, playing with Candace hide and seek and making sure she wasn’t going to find him. It was empty, thankfully; the only things there were his still unpacked bag and his messed up sheets. Foggy waited another two minutes before and looked out of the windows before he approached the big glass door that was Matt’s bedroom door. For some reason all the good feelings he had woken up with today seemed to have fled, and he had to remind himself that yesterday had gone pretty good, and that Matt, regardless of what he may think right now, hadn’t been proven to be some kind of fucked up mob boss.

All he saw in the room was a rolled up _something_ under the covers, and four pillows piled up where Matt’s head should have been. Foggy breathed out in relief. His knees almost felt a little weak. He slid open the door and the radio DJ’s voice came washing out.

“- _and there’s that! Coming at you next the newest hits on the Top 40, lets_ smash _the airwaves-”_

Was he still asleep? Foggy took a second to think. Was that supposed to be his _alarm_? He took a hesitant step in. “Hey Matt? Still asleep there?” After a second a low groan greeted him but he didn’t move.

“Murdock? You go into work today?”

There was a pause before Matt yanked his head up, eyes squinting and mouth half open as he sent the pillows flying. Foggy hadn’t seen him with his glasses off yet, and he registered the sight of glazed over eyes and dark circles underneath them, wandering around as he tried to concentrate.

“Shit.” Matt groaned slowly. He laid his head back on the bed, and Foggy wondered if he was the type of person who needed some real incentive to get up in the morning. Like, a cattle prod kind of incentive.

“Can’t believe I fell asleep last night.” He continued, rubbing his head into the sheets.

Matt reached over and pressed a button on his alarm clock. Instantly the radio DJ stopped, replaced by a cool robotic voice.

“Eight forty-three, A.M.”

Matt groaned again, sitting up. “Okay. Okay. Seventeen minutes, I can make that.”

“ _Seventeen_?” Foggy winced. That was a recipe for disaster if he ever heard one. He was trying hard not to seem to in the way or make unnecessary comments that could set Matt off, but this one couldn’t fly. “Isn’t Landman and Zack a couple of blocks away?”

“It’s alright, I’ll just…run for it.” Matt gave a wry chuckle and Foggy couldn’t hold back the laughing snort that came out of his mouth. He hadn’t expected that.

“I didn’t mean to find that so funny, I swear,” he laughed.

Matt got up, running his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I’ll make it work, don’t worry about it.”

Foggy heard the dismissal in those words and didn’t bother sticking around; he retreated to see what he could get for breakfast while Matt did what he had to do about making it to work on time.

Apparently it was ‘just give up on being on time’, because he only came out of his room twenty minutes later and even then it was only to head straight into the shower. Foggy was finishing up his third cream cheese, egg and ham toast sandwich when Matt came out in a billow of steam and took refuge in his room again, only to come out dressed and ready. Foggy already felt like this was a different man than the one who had come up to pick him up yesterday. With a crisp suit on, satchel hung over one shoulder and his glasses hiding half of his face, Matt Murdock looked less like comfortable blind bachelor and more like professional blind law shark.

“Franklin?” He called.

“Yeah, I’m sitting on the couch. The big one.” Foggy sat up a little, putting the remnants of his sandwich on a plate. “You uh, you ready to go?”

Matt nodded. “I called in; they’ll have everything sorted. Whenever you’re ready?”

Foggy stood up, skirting around the couch to dump the crust in the trash and the plate in the sink. “Sure, let’s go.”

He joined Matt at the door, where his sponsor was reaching for his cane, readying it in one hand. Foggy felt awkwardness rise in his chest as he looked over at Matt’s cane and glasses. Was he supposed to lead today? How did he do that? Yesterday had been sort of unexpected, and he hadn’t even taken a good time to look up how to _be_ a sighted guide yet. And that was even _without_ knowing yet how he’d even do that. No computer and no phone made it slightly hard to begin research. He wondered if he’d have a chance somehow to go to the library later on at least, and see what he could find there.

Matt pulled open the door, and Foggy decided saying something sooner rather than later was probably the right way to go.

“Hey uh, Matt? Am I supposed to lead you yet? I’m not really sure how this works yet, and I haven’t looked into it yet but I kind of thought, that, you know—“

Matt chuckled, stepping through into the building hallway. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that. Remember, I told you I could already get to Landman and Zack by myself. We’ll figure you the details later, but at least for today you’ll see how to get there from where we are now.”

“Right.” Sure. Of course, that sounded logical. Foggy still felt a little anxiety churning in his gut as he stepped out after Matt and the other closed and locked the door.

Funny how studying for years to argue in front of a group of people hadn’t prepared him for shit about how to function as anyone’s helper.

The streets weren’t too bad, and they made good time. Foggy was feeling that jealousy again as they neared the big glass doors of Landman and Zack. He wondered what their offices would be like. Probably lots of marble. Ceiling to floor window views and way more decoration that any law firm really needed. But then again, at this point he might have only been an intern like Matt was. He was sure they also had dark cluttered offices to shove the both of them into.

They entered through one side of the glass wall of doors—Foggy tried to be helpful and opened one up for Matt—and it was only there, walking along the echoing marble tiles of the building already busy with people, that Matt stopped and finally broke their silence.

“Oh.”

Foggy glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

Matt had the decency to get a little pink in the cheeks. “…I don’t think I let anyone know I have a sighted guide yet.” Foggy tried to figure out what this would mean. “You won’t be able to go into the offices.”

“Aw crap.” Foggy looked around, spotting the security desk on the other side of the very wide lobby. “Uhh, you’d have to put in some kind of form for that right? Seeing as I’m part of the Program?”

Matt thought it over for a minute and Foggy tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. That could take days for approval, what would he do in the meantime? He had no money, no transportation, nowhere he could go in the meantime other than just waiting for hours on end at Matt’s place. And while it was a very _nice_ apartment, if a little color mismatched, it was very _dull_. At least back at the Facility he had other people to talk to, but if he had to spend days there alone with nothing to do he would go insane.

He was surprised to have something pushed at him. Foggy stared down as Matt held out his wallet. He didn’t know what else to do but take it hesitantly, and Matt began to dig in the pockets of his coat.

“Here take this.” He handed Foggy his phone and keyring. “Just uh, be back here by five. Sound ok?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just have a day off. See the sights, buy a hotdog. I’ll talk to the bigshots and let them know what’s going on. Like I said,” Matt somehow found Foggy’s shoulder and gave it a pat. “Just be back by five to go home.”

And with that he was done and gone, walking off with his cane in front, tapping toward the elevators. Foggy watched him go, looking down at his hands. Here he was, in plain view, holding the phone, wallet and keys of his sponsor; he could feel the familiar weight of the ankle bracelet reminding him of just who he was. If he had _mugged_ him he probably couldn’t have carried any more incriminating personal effects.

Foggy sighed, shoulders slumping.

“I’m _so_ going to jail.”

**

*

Matt listened to the footsteps of Franklin Nelson move once, twice, toward the security desk, then finally give up and move out of the door. He caught every single grumble that came out of those lips as he left the elevator and smiled slightly. He was sure Franklin would be fine. Regardless of his… _sleeping_ habits, Matt was more than willing to bet that the wildest thing Franklin would do today would be to actually buy that hotdog he told him to get.

So maybe ‘forgotten to get Franklin listed as an accommodation for him at work’ wasn’t the right term. It was more closer to “deliberately didn’t do it’. He poked his head into the floor’s lobby, greeting the secretary there. Just for a day, so he could get some work done.

And maybe see just how far he could get in unravelling whatever was going down behind the public eye with the Reintegration Program.

**

*

Foggy was waiting for Matt when he came out of work, thirty minutes late and walking with a woman that, in her off time, was probably some kind of super model. He had the sudden regret that he hadn’t actually gone on a miniature shopping spree with this guy’s card, and sighed as he squashed the urge.

Matt and the mystery woman parted ways before they reached the front desk and Foggy started to wave before he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat instead.

“Matt?” He called out. His sponsor paused, turning a bit to his left. Foggy took this as a sign to approach, stopping just out of reach of the cane. “Hey, everything go alright up top?”

“Yeah, it’s all been settled. I’ll bring over the forms they gave me yesterday and we’ll get you up there by the end of the week.” Foggy noticed Matt touch at the band on his wrist. “Did you get here early?”

“Uh, no, it’s alright I was actually running late myself.” Foggy lied. And if he asked he’d say he’d definitely gone to see the sights, instead of sitting in the park for five hours playing Tetris on Matt’s phone and then getting a pretzel and sitting in a café for another three. “You have anything else to do before we go?”

“Nope.” Matt stretched his back a bit and began to walk; Foggy moved out of his way to walk by right as they exited the building. “We should pick something up before we get home, I had lunch a while ago.”

Foggy opened his mouth to say something and abruptly changed his mind. “…oh man, your wallet had all your money in it didn’t it? I’m sorry, how did you even eat lunch today?” He dug into his coat to try and give it back, and looked up to see Matt’s lips twitch in an aborted smile.

“There are some very kind ladies up there.”

He gaped at Matt for a second before bursting out in laughter so loud it makes a few teenagers passing by give him weird looks. “That’s gotta be _illegal_.” He shook his head. “I bet they were all gorgeous. Well, I mean…”

Matt only smiled. “They _sounded_ pretty hot.”

“How does someone sound hot?”

“Very easily.”

Foggy could almost hate how easily this man put him off his guard if he wasn’t laughing hard enough to bruise a rib.

**

*

They hadn’t been home long when Matt decided that the first step in his investigation outside of the offices was to see what else was lying in the dusty corners of Franklin’s past. So while Franklin lounged on the couch eating the remnants of a pizza slice, he ran the files they had given him on his new beneficiary through his old embosser, and began to read.

Two minutes later he sat up, surprised.

“Franklin, you’re a law student?”

“Hrpmm?” Franklin whipped his head around, his mouth still full. He made a couple of noises Matt thought belonged more to a wounded bear before swallowing and coughing. He wisely said nothing about biting off more than he could chew, and waited for Franklin to bring himself under control.

“Yeah!” Franklin wheezed. “I was at State for pre-Law, and uh, then Columbia.”

“You’re joking. What type of law?”

“Criminal Law.” Franklin sounded very confused, and more than a little wary. “Why? How’d you know?”

In this case, Matt thought, it probably wasn’t going to do him any favors by lying. Franklin had been in the Program a while, he had most likely just forgotten the transfer of files between Facility and sponsor. He held up a page spotted with lines of Braille. “They handed me a bunch of files yesterday when I picked you up; work history, school things, etc.”

Franklin’s voice dropped flat almost instantly. “Oh yeah.” He continued looking in his direction for a couple more seconds before turning back, shoulders hunched up almost to his ears. Even without trying Matt could understand what he felt. There were things about him, about his life, that couldn’t be summed up on a piece of paper in a folder. And the thought of it just being casually handed out like baseball trading cards would be enough to piss him off a little too. He could feel the heat rise from the back of Franklin’s neck out of what he thought might be frustrated embarrassment.

All he could feel himself though was the anxious restlessness of a _stupid_ idea. Matt forced himself to think. This could…help? If they played this right. If he was entirely honest with himself, he’d really had no idea what to do with Franklin once he’d gotten him permission to go with him into the offices. Keep an eye on him of course, no pun intended. Maybe get his help in writing interview notes down, if they were going the whole ‘sighted guide’ bit. He couldn’t just leave him to his own devices back home _every_ day—although it was tempting—while he was at work; he wasn’t some sort of human pet. Franklin would probably go crazy.

But if Franklin already knew what he was doing…the idea was _so_ tempting. With two people working, Matt was going to have more time to snoop around into the Program. Today had been sort of a bust in spite of his confident attitude in the morning; mostly what he’d gotten was the same garbled mess the pamphlets said about it being a wonderful help to society from the few people he’d bothered to ask.

It didn’t help that most of the records on file within his own reach were on the P.S.S. online database. For obvious reasons, electronics and technology had never been Matt’s thing. He was going to have to find out some way around that.

Matt threw the idea around in his head for exactly three seconds before he said, “I did pre-Law at State too.”

 _That_ got Franklin’s attention; he dropped his pizza back onto the cardboard box. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He laughed, “I was at Columbia too for a while before I transferred to Harvard. Better financial aid.”

“You’re _absolutely_ joking me.” Franklin mimicked his words. “You must have graduated a semester earlier than me. That’s incredible.”

Matt went for the humble shrug. “What about you? You didn’t finish, or it just wasn’t for you?” He was going for casual, but he focused on the sound of Franklin’s heartbeat.

Franklin slouched back, face grimacing. “The P.S.S. picked me up before I could graduate. It’ll be a while before I can go back.” His voice turned stubborn, although his heart gave a jump with his next words. “But I’ll do it, just as soon as we’re cleared. They haven’t seen the last of ol’ Foggy Nelson yet.”

“Ol’ Foggy Nelson?” Matt raised a brow, and the other mumbled something about nicknames. Franklin was scared, or at least worried about not being able to finish law school, as far as Matt could read. But Matt was relieved. At least he _wanted_ to go back. Maybe Franklin could be of a lot more use than he had originally intended. Matt smiled to himself.

It had been a while since he’d had a partner working with him on anything, even if Franklin didn’t know just what he would be doing.

**

*


End file.
